


No Strings On Me

by iwasraisedtokeepquiet



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But they are idiots, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasraisedtokeepquiet/pseuds/iwasraisedtokeepquiet
Summary: He’s been selfish enough... He’s touched and tasted and felt and dreamt and kept and hoped and hid and hid and hid.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 240





	No Strings On Me

_ This has to stop, I need to end it. _

These are the words that run through his head after another night in Omi's bed.

Atsumu looks at the person lying face down beside him, his eyes trace the grooves of a face that he's become overly familiar with for the past three months. Try as he might to look away and not reach out, his hand still itches to run through the curls obscuring Omi's face. Atsumu wants to push them back and to continue touching him; to his neck littered by the marks he has left, to his broad back exposed by the covers to the midnight air, 'till tomorrow and to the next lifetime.

_ I have to go. _

This is something that he should have done a few weeks ago after realizing the extent of his feelings but look at where he is now.

And that's where the problem lies, isn't it?

Their arrangement was clear from the very beginning.

No strings. Just sex. Just pleasure. No pain.

Atsumu scoffs silently to himself, at himself. He could have avoided this predicament if he only stuck to the plan.

They were only meant to fuck. To burn off excess energy after game nights. To use and be used by one another. It was supposed to be purely physical.

_ "I don't have to worry about you falling for me, right, Miya?" _

_ "I should be the one asking that, Omi-kun." _

Those were the last coherent thoughts between them before their clothes fell to the floor, before Atsumu knew the sinful taste of Omi's lips on his and before he knew how sweet Omi's touch could burn his skin.

He was so confident, too confident. He rose too high, only to fall harder.

And his rapid descent came to a couple of months after their first encounter.

_ A big win at home court, not even the torrential rain has stopped them from having one too many drinks which lead to too loose lips, unabashed wandering of hands, then a great fuck after. _

_ "You could stay," Omi mumbles, already closing his eyes and burrowing in his pillows. _

_ Atsumu should have braved the pouring rain that night. Should have slept on the guest bedroom or the couch at least. Should have not let the arms that pulled and pushed at him roughly not even half an hour ago be gentle and envelope him in dangerous warmth. _

_ Should have not noticed the softness that the morning brings to one Sakusa Kiyoomi and most definitely should have not let his thoughts run wild and let them take root in his heart. _

_ But Miya Atsumu is not an infallible man. _

  
  
  


He gently plucks the arm draped on his torso and places it parallel to Omi's sleeping form. He starts to pick up their discarded clothing, feeling every pull of his muscles with each motion warning him how sore he'll be tomorrow, he puts on his clothes and folds Omi's to place them on the foot of his bed.

Atsumu zips up his MSBY jacket as he puts on his resolve.  _ This is the last time. It has to be. _

"Miya," he hears Omi—no, Sakusa mumble from his bed.

"I-I have to go," Atsumu all but whispers in the dimly lit room.

"Why? Is there something wrong?"

_ Yes. _

"No," he fumbles and sighs, "It's not a big deal."  _ At least to you. _

"Not a big deal? Miya, it's 2 AM. If it isn't an emergency, I'm sure it can wait in the morning. Come back to bed."

_ Stop, please _ , he begs more to himself than to the man with the soft voice and simple words but a strong pull on his heart, who's also very much oblivious of the way he’s aching.  _ He didn't mean it that way. _

"I need to head home."

He's not able to hold back the sad smile that Sakusa definitely saw, he just hurriedly puts on his shoes and grabs his bag on his way out of the bedroom and then he's out the door in no time.

He didn't hear Kiyoomi calling him by his name.

  
  
  


Atsumu skips practice the next day.

He feels sick like he's ready to throw up his insides while also feeling hollow, his chest just a big dark cavern.

He then finds himself in Samu's restaurant, searching for some familiarity, wishing it could fill out the void slowly growing inside him. He also finds Suna there, to no one's surprise.

"Eat, shithead," Atsumu hears his twin say behind the counter. "Kita-san didn't work hard for that rice for it to go to waste."

Atsumu can sense the questioning and concerned look that Suna and Samu shared over his head from where he's currently slumped over. He usually devours whatever Samu serves him even before the plate could settle on the table, damn burnt tongues and all, but his body just feels so heavy at the moment.

He turns his head towards Suna and the plate, reaching out for one onigiri to take a small bite.

"I'm guessing the benefit no longer outweighs the risk," Suna speculates, his left hand cradling his chin and looking down from where Atsumu is still slumped on the cold surface of the counter.

"Rin," Samu chides gently.

Suna just shrugs and repeats, "Eat, shithead." then taps his foot to Atsumu's leg in apology.

  
  
  


Since he didn't attend yesterday's practice, Coach Foster informs him that he'll be sitting out today's game. That's fine by him, he still feels shitty and he knows he'll only feel shittier if he fucked his game.

_ But goddamn _ , he thinks,  _ I'm supposed to be a professional volleyball player. _

_ But you're also human _ , his inner Osamu reminds him. His twin didn't say much the day before, only telling him he'll know what to do when the time comes and  _ you've already grovelled too much you scared my customers away, get home safe. _

So he watched the game on the bench. They won after 4 sets. Sakusa was named as the player of the game. And he left even before Omi could even turn his head to look at his direction.

  
  
  


It's proving to be quite difficult to maintain a sense of normalcy while he's also trying to avoid a certain teammate. They have another home game tomorrow and Atsumu is trying his best to be at least half a court's length away from Sakusa at any given time.

They're usually teamed up during practices, but he insisted on Coach Foster to test more of Sakusa and Matsueda-san's chemistry on the court, seeing Sakusa was chosen as the player of the game the night before when he wasn't playing.

Throughout practice though, he notices how Sakusa's spikes steadily increase in power as they get closer and closer to where he's standing.

  
  


He's the first one to leave the court again so he's also the first one out of the showers, he's now packing his bag when his peripheral vision registers Shoyo-kun and Sakusa when they enter the locker room together.

Atsumu watches as they make for the showers, walking in sync and heads close together, Sakusa messes Hinata's hair before going ahead while the other goes to his locker to get something.

His stomach sinks when an unbidden thought makes itself known to the forefront of his brain.  _ What if it's Shoyo-kun who Sakusa really wants? _

Atsumu has to physically shake his head to banish the thought, he doesn't want to start now, he can mope all he wants when he gets home but not here, not now. He stands up and has all the intention of going home and maybe drinking some of that sake Kita-san brought Samu with the latest delivery of rice but unfortunately, the world has a different plan for him. He's stopped by Coach Foster and Meian-san to talk about his absence last practice and how he's been distracted lately. 

_ So, they noticed. Great. _

They're wrapping up with a promise from Atsumu to get back on his head when he sees Sakusa and Shoyo-kun exit the locker room.

"Hinata, can you hold on for a sec?" Atsumu hears Sakusa ask.

Atsumu tightens his grip on the strap of his bag as their captain pats his shoulder and they leave him in the hallway to go to the offices. Since the only way outside the building is in the opposite direction, he has no other choice but to face the person he's been avoiding.

"Miya," Sakusa calls as he approaches him. "What happened? You didn't show last night."

It's all Atsumu can do not to let out his sigh.  _ It's all physical, it'll only ever be physical to him. _

"About that..." He manages to say after a couple of beats, he lets his eyes stray over Sakusa's shoulder and sees Shoyo-kun waiting. Sakusa follows his gaze and Shoyo smiles at them.

"Sorry, let's talk about it later, alright?" Sakusa says, still looking at Hinata.

_ I guess I'm right. _

"I want out," he all but blurts out.

"What?" Sakusa questions, his frown showing.

_ I want out. I want to stop. Before I hurt myself worse. _

"I said I want out, Om— Sakusa-san."  _ Before I destroy myself further. _

"Miya," he replies, his hand reaching out but not making contact. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"There's nothing to talk about, really," Atsumu insists, not able to meet Sakusa's eyes.

"Clearly, there is," exasperation now clear in his voice.

“Sho-kun’s waiting. I’m… not gonna keep you,” Aatsumu hikes up the strap on his shoulder and leaves.

“Atsumu.”

This time he hears it clear as day.

  
  
  


He ends up opening one of Kita-san's sake and he's now four shots deep, he's aware that he promised to get back to his 100% but he just really needs this now. And who knows, maybe Kita had this blessed to the extent that it'll have some magical powers and he'll wake up the next morning with no memory of how he feels with Omi-kun.

_ Omi-omi _ , Atsumu thinks fondly, gazing at the clear shot glass as if he'll manifest the guy himself if he said it passionately enough.

It's a good thing, he ponders, that they've never done it in his apartment. Omi always insists to go to his place directly after every home game that they could manage. They've done it in many of their shared hotel rooms on away games too of course, since that's how all this started.

The very first time was at some hotel in Tokyo Atsumu can no longer remember and he just got out of the shower and was drying his hair when he found Omi-kun sitting on his bed, clearly waiting for something, or someone. They talked about the arrangement for like 10 minutes before they were on each other's lips.

But they've never done it here. And that's a good thing, he convinces himself as he takes another shot.

Atsumu's about to pour out another when he hears a knock on his door. As he is not expecting anyone, he grunts and stumbles his way to answer it, about halfway to the door he asks who it is but no reply comes.

If Kita's wine is as shitty as the wine he and Samu illegally bought when they were 15, he would have sobered up right away seeing Omi-kun in his doorway, but seeing that Kita's sake was maybe the best he's ever tasted and that he's very well intoxicated now, Atsumu just shouts, "And what the hell are you doing here?!"

"Here for you, obviously," comes the reply, muffled by the mask Omi's wearing.

"How'd you know I'll be here?"

"This is your apartment, isn't it?"

"I could be at Samu's," he shrugs.

"Well, you're upset," voice clearer now that Omi has removed his mask.

"What about it?"

"And you're drunk. Look, Miya, can we talk inside? You're getting louder and we don't want to disturb your neighbors, yeah?"

"Is that why we've never done it here?" Atsumu asks incredulously.

"What?" Omi asks back, equally confused.

"Wha—?" He's really drunk, isn't he? He's losing track of the conversation now.

"Let's please talk inside."

"Didn't I say there's nothing to talk about, I spes-espec-specifically remember saying that."

"Atsumu," Kiyoomi reprimands.

He can't help the whimper that he lets out, hearing his name out of Omi's lips and closer this time, it's his undoing.

"Please," Atsumu tries to say, voice now quiet, "Om— Sakusa, I can't—"

He starts when he feels the fingers on his chin lifting his head, he doesn't even realize that he has bowed his head down, Kiyoomi chases and meets his eyes when he tries to avert them.

"Stop calling me that," Atsumu's eyes widen at the imploring tone Omi uses, "You’ve stopped calling me that five minutes after we met and you decided to call me Omi instead, to my dismay." Omi shifts closer to Atsumu to cup his face and brush away the tears he didn't know he's shedding. "Don't start now."

Atsumu grips Omi's shirt and pushes him lightly, he goes back inside his apartment leaving Omi to follow a beat later.

"Will you let me know what's in your head?" Atsumu hears the question follow him as he paces in his living room.

"I'm sorry."

"Atsumu, please."

"No, Omi," his voice near pleading, "I let it get out of hand. I didn't think it will grow this big, I was so stupid. I ignored it and now it's too much to contain. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey, breathe. Atsumu, you have to breathe, please."

Atsumu slumps forward and wraps his arms around Kiyoomi, which is returned and he feels Omi’s hand run up and down his back trying to calm him down.

It took a while, but once Atsumu has control of his breathing again, Omi directs them to the couch and he leads Atsumu to rest his head on his lap. He starts carding his hair through Atsumu’s hair and speaks quietly, “I think I have an idea what's happening, but I need to hear it from you."

"Hmmm?" Atsumu can only hum, getting sleepier by the moment from Omi’s touch.

"We can talk about it in the morning."

Omi keeps running his fingers through Atsumu’s hair until he falls asleep. Once he’s sure Atsumu won’t wake up, he gently lifts him off the couch and carries him to his room. It takes a little maneuvering getting him from the couch to the bed and wrestling the covers from under Atsumu to cover him up.  _ He’ll have one heck of a headache when he wakes up _ , Kiyoomi thinks.

He sits on the edge of the bed, his mind whirring as he looks at Atsumu’s face. The frown lining his brows reminds Kiyoomi of the first time Atsumu stayed the night with him, he remembers savoring the warmth of their bodies under his covers, wishing it meant something more.

_ Maybe it has. Maybe it does. _

He moves the hair falling on Atsumu’s face away, easing the frown with his thumb. He’s about to get up and leave for his apartment when a hand grips on his jacket sleeve and a soft murmur of his nickname stops him.

“Omi, stay. Please.”

Kiyoomi feels his heart clench. He moves to lie on the bed tucking Atsumu in his chest. He stays.

_ We’re fools, you and I both. _

  
  
  


Atsumu wakes up with a fucking headache and the smell of bacon filling the air. He sits up gingerly and looks at the alarm clock on his bedside table, 4:17 am it reads.  _ This is the first time in a while I woke up before my alarm. _

He runs his hands on his face trying to remember how he got to bed, he was drinking sake on his kitchen table last night, _damn, not even in the living room like I normally do, am I that desperate?_ _Okay, so I was drinking, four shots in, no, five but I never cooked bacon, why does it smell like bacon._ _Then there was a knock on the door and—_

“Omi!” He exclaims, remembering and looking to his bedroom door too fast causing another bout of pain to course through his head making him groan, “Bacon...”

He’s busy tugging at his hair, both to alleviate the pain from his hangover and of not knowing what to do with the man now cooking bacon in his kitchen, that he didn’t notice Kiyoomi has already made his way to his room with a tray of food in his hands.

“Morning,” Omi says it in his gentle morning voice but Atsumu still jumps a little upon hearing it. He straightens a bit to peek at Omi, still not believing that he’s still here. In his bedroom. Bringing him food.

They look at each other for a couple of seconds before Omi puts down the tray on Atsumu’s bedside table and goes to sit by Atsumu’s bent knees.

“How are you feeling? Headache?”

“You’re— you’re here.”

Kiyoomi wants to touch him but looking into Atsumu’s eyes that are starting to fill with tears again, he’s afraid his touch will do more harm than good.

“I’m here,” he says instead, leaning back on his hands and gripping the sheets to prevent himself from reaching out.

He’s been selfish enough, starting this arrangement. He’s touched and tasted and felt and dreamt and kept and hoped and hid and hid and hid.

_ No more. _

“I’m here,” he repeats, lifting his right hand seeking to touch Atsumu’s knee but he’s startled when now he has a full-grown man trying to wrap himself around his waist, crying once again if the rapid rising of his back is any indication.

Kiyoomi wills his hand to run through Atsumu’s back, then. To finally connect. To finally touch him like he’s been meaning to all these years. Wishing it translates what his heart’s been trying to scream for so long, if not for his stubborn insistence of silencing it.

"Why are you so cruel, Omi-kun?" he hears Atsumu say.

"I cooked you breakfast, Atsumu," Kiyoomi counters, easing up with his hand on Atsumu’s back as he sits up.

“You said it again.”

“Hmm?”

“My name,” he whispers, hand now curling up on the hem of Kiyoomi’s shirt. “You’ve always only called me Miya. It was… It was alright, until about a few weeks ago when I started to hate it—”

“Do you want to know why I insist on calling you with your last name?” Omi interrupts him, apprehension tinting his voice, and Atsumu can only nod.

“Distance. I was trying to keep my distance,” Kiyoomi continues after heaving a deep breath. “And I know, getting you to agree with being sexual partners is probably the worst idea if I’m trying to keep  _ my fucking distance _ but… I was also desperate. And wanting. And foolish and stupid and I’m sorry. For dragging you along.”

Silence fills the room. Somehow Kiyoomi ends up resting his forehead on Atsumu’s right shoulder and Atsumu feels warmth flare up from the contact, steadily coursing through his whole body.

Carefully tangling his hand through Omi’s hair and giving it a light tug to get him to look, Atsumu says, confused, “Dragging me along? Omi?”

“Yeah. Is that not the reason why you want to end it? Because you figured out how I feel?”

“Wha— how  _ you _ feel?  _ For me? _ Omi-omi, Omi-kun, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu feels like his heart’s about to burst, he starts to smile, feeling it on his cheeks until it hurts, eyes once again filling up with tears this time with joy. If he’s reading this correctly, it seems like Omi feels the same way he does.

“Was that not—,” Omi wasn’t able to finish now that he has Atsumu’s lips on him.

_ Oh, bliss, _ Kiyoomi thinks, it was only for a couple of days, but he missed it. And now it has the potential of meaning so much more. Just like he’s always hoped for.

“Are we really this fucking stupid, huh, Sakusa Kiyoomi? I thought you’re supposed to be the smart one between us.”

“Atsumu,” he yearns, tearing up as well and holding on to the fabric on Atsumu’s back.

“Say it again. Please.”

“Atsumu.”

”Omi,” he says with such tenderness, it’s only right for their lips to touch again.

What of it, if the only words uttered between them for the next couple of hours are their names, or variations of it, moaned and muttered and pleaded and revered? What if their touch means so much more now, with the promise of it never fading 'till tomorrow and to the next lifetime?

And if they’re late for morning assembly that day, what of it?

**Author's Note:**

> I slowly realized that I was writing this because I found out Sakusa never called Atsumu by his first name.
> 
> This was also inspired by [Eric Nam's No Shame](https://open.spotify.com/track/5bcGXAURz9HN5jiksIIQ36?si=HXtupHs1T4u9EvytkNMCHw).
> 
> Here's the link to this fic's [post on Twitter](https://twitter.com/iwrtkeepquiet/status/1299173240548610050?s=20).


End file.
